


Dio perdona, io no

by polar_knight



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, not sure if it's that brutal but just to be safe, rating this Mature with the warning because of a fight scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polar_knight/pseuds/polar_knight
Summary: Yusuf al-Kaysani (also known as Joe) is an investigative journalist who is almost killed in a back alley one night for exposing connections between a local mob boss and one of the prominent candidates for NY Mayor. Joe was lucky that some weird ninja dressed in all black was there to save him. And this is how Joe starts investigating the dark and gritty case of Hell's Kitchen mysterious vigilante.______________name: God forgives, I don't
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61





	Dio perdona, io no

**Author's Note:**

> Eternally grateful to amazing Flamingbluepanda, who so graciously offered her beta services. Thank you so much for making this presentable!  
> And big thank you to everyone on Discord who expressed their interest in this crossover, you guys are the best! 
> 
> Also, I made a moodboard for this crossover: https://alaskandawn.tumblr.com/post/631355360595312640/tog-x-daredevil-crossover

He wasn't planning on staying at Booker's for so long, but after his last piece was published yesterday, both of them deserved this small celebration at the shithole that was Booker's favored dingy sports bar just because they translated Europa League. Besides, somebody had to make sure that after the crushing defeat of PSG Booker would get home without getting himself in a brawl or passing out in the back alley around the corner.

Unfortunately, since Joe's Chevy drew her last breath two weeks ago, it meant calling a taxi for his friend and then hopping on one of the last subway trains to his home. While on that train with the only other three passengers - a sleeping hobo in one corner of the wagon and a dressed up couple devouring each other's mouths - Joe realized that the fridge back at his tiny lonely apartment, besides a half-finished pack of hummus, was depressingly empty. Luckily, the bodega four blocks away from his place, just on his way from the subway station, had saved Joe, as usual, and soon he was cheerfully heading home with some halal pastrami sandwiches wrapped tightly in a paper bag in his right hand and an egg carton in his left.

Joe had just a couple of blocks left when he was unceremoniously yanked into one of the dreary side alleys down the street, his mouth quickly gagged with a rough, calloused hand and his body slammed into the wet brick wall, leaving bruises on the left side of his face where he was pressed against the wall. Joe's heart skipped a beat for a second, and then his fight response kicked in.

He failed to hit his attacker in the ribs, trying to quickly take in his surroundings. It looked like there were only the two of them, in a poorly lit narrow alley that strongly stank of piss and was crowded with several garbage containers. Joe tried to push his assaulter onto one, but the guy was massive like a goddamn wardrobe. Joe, who wasn't fragile by any means, but he started to feel the upcoming panic coiling into a tight spring in his stomach.

He tried to bite the hand clasping his mouth, which earned him a forceful kick in the shin that felt suspiciously like a cracked bone. Joe cried out, but his voice was muffled.

And then, as suddenly as it appeared, the pressure on his backside and mouth suddenly disappeared. With a surprised grunt, Joe quickly turned around, wincing from a piercing pain in his leg.

Whatever he expected, it definitely was not a guy dressed in all black, including a head-wrap that, for some reason, was covering the upper part of his face _with_ the eyes. However, it seemed to pose no problems to his savior as he twisted the thug's arm with a lightning-swift motion. Joe heard a clunk, and then saw a butterfly knife gleaming on the ground in the dim yellow light. The thug made a shocked growl, but before he could do anything, a guy in black knocked him over in a smooth foot sweep and quickly dropped on one knee beside him, grabbing thug's head and slamming it hard into the ground, knocking him out for good.

For several long seconds Joe was standing there in a stunned silence, feeling only the crazy beat of his heart in the chest and a rush of blood in the ears that almost rendered him deaf for a second. The guy in black didn't dwell over the unconscious body for long, rising to his feet in one fluid motion before turning to Joe.

“Are you alright? Will you be able to make it home on your own with your leg?” There was a tinge of some accent in his voice, almost undetectable if you don't pay attention or don't have an ear for that.

Joe frowned - for the entirety of the fight between the thug and this guy, (which, in hindsight, took twenty seconds at best,) he completely forgot about his leg. Reminded about it with adrenalin washing out of his system, Joe suddenly found himself exhausted and in pain, acutely feeling every bruise and crack in his body. He carefully moved his right leg and tightened his jaw not to let out a groan.

“Thanks, I'll manage, it's just around the corner.”

Forgetting about his leg again, Joe turned his full attention to his savior. Just an inch shorter than Joe, the guy was even broader in his shoulders, lithe but not bulky like the guy sprawled on the ground between them. Joe took a quick look at his attacker: a white man in late forties with a stubble that was just a day away from becoming a beard, he was wearing a leather jacket and showed no signs of regaining consciousness anytime soon. Joe felt a sting of worry.

“Is he alive?” He considered bending down to check the pulse but a sharp pain in his shin made Joe change his mind and stay upright where he was.

“Yes, he'll have a mild concussion, perhaps it will stop him from mugging other people in the future,” shrugged Joe’s strange, ninja-esque rescuer.

Joe wondered how he was so sure about this diagnosis, but decided to keep that thought to himself and get back to analyzing his savior. The only facial features that he could make out were pursed lips, and half of his right cheek was covered in a couple inches wide band-aid. Nothing for Joe to latch on to identify the guy besides the height, build, pale complexion and a hint of an accent that he couldn't quite place anyway. That left Joe with a frustratingly wide pool of men in Manhattan alone. Most of his thoughts primarily thrown into this identification task, Joe hasn't realized right away something about the stranger's words:

“He didn't try to mug me, I don't think. Or I didn't give him enough time to clearly voice his intentions until you so valiantly saved me.” Joe couldn't help but drawl the last part a bit, his lips breaking into a smile almost on their volition until he winced when freshly bruised cheek reminded Joe of its rather rough earlier encounter with a brick wall.

The guy in front of him cocked his head a bit in a sort of owlish manner.

“Was he your enemy then?” He asked in such a calm, restrained tone that almost passed as casual.

“I don't…” started Joe but then he fell silent. He didn't what? Have enemies? That was very far from the truth, he definitely pissed off enough powerful people with his investigations, and a couple of his articles were quite literally career-ending.

It was quite simple, actually. Joe even expected something like this, if he was being completely honest with himself. At least deep down he knew that one day somebody wouldn't be afraid to take their threats a step further.

“I don't know this man, but I think he might have been sent by someone, who... Whom I may have caused quite a lot of trouble.”

“So, you are a troublemaker?” A small, but undeniably there smile tugged in the corner of the guy's mouth, and even in the shittiest street light in the entire Hell's Kitchen, Joe could see the soft curve of these lips. The sight made his throat dry, and he forced himself to swallow whatever this wave of the feeling was.

“I am an investigative journalist, so yeah, this is basically in my job description,” Joe smiled broadly, ignoring the pain in his cheek.

“And whom have you investigated so successfully that they sent a killer, albeit a rather sloppy one, after you?” Now Joe was sure that a slight amusement in the stranger's voice was a cover for... Something way more intense lurking underneath. Joe decided to uphold a nonchalant tone of their conversation.

“Quite a few. Just yesterday the New York Bulletin published my piece revealing the connection between Howard Reilly Junior and Stephen Merrick.”

“You are Yusuf Al-Kaysani?” Again, the man tilted his head like an owl. Joe barked out a surprised laugh.

“At your service,” Joe jokingly bowed a bit, still smiling like an idiot. Perhaps his head was hit harder than he initially thought. This definitely wasn't the appropriate situation to crack up his jokes.

“Nice article, Mr. Al-Kaysani. Please, try to be a bit more careful next time though when you walk around at night.” With these words, the mystery ninja walked up to the closest fire escape and climbed it with almost superhuman speed and agility, and before Joe could utter a word, he disappeared on the roof.

Joe stood there dumbfounded and confused for a while before glancing down at the still knocked out thug and quickly contemplating if he should call the police or just leave him here before opting for a call to police.

After this part was done, he looked around to see a discarded paper bag and a leaking egg carton on the ground. With a heavy sign and dull ache in his leg, Joe leaned down to pick his scant groceries from the ground and threw the egg carton in the garbage container next to the unconscious body. After wiping his hands on his already stained jeans, Joe started chewing on his miraculously untouched sandwich while waiting for the arrival of the police. He had some time to figure out what he was going to tell the officers about this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this!


End file.
